


Shattered Stars

by Prince_of_Leaves



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: And angst, Brotherly Affection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 17:44:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13746066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prince_of_Leaves/pseuds/Prince_of_Leaves
Summary: 'Know your place, brother,' Thor had once told him.'And where is my place now?' Loki wants to ask.





	Shattered Stars

They are locked together. A circle, perfect and forever, endless in hate and love, in torment and wonder.

Loki says ‘I’m here’ and remembers. He thinks of mornings so long ago, when Thor would come to his room without knocking and wake him up. Loki, who had passed the night reading, would yell at him, order him to remove himself at once or there would be a series of consequences.

Thor would never listen. 

‘Why don’t you ever knock?’ he’d snap at his giant brother.

‘I do!’ Thor would protest, ‘you don’t hear.’ And for all Loki complained, he'd never lock his door and neither did he use magic to stop Thor.

Thor would not admit to wanting to visit his brother. He’d lie lazily instead, excuses which could not protect a child. He would cite Mother’s disapproval and Father’s tedious orders. Sif was angry with him and waiting to avenge her opinion at the training grounds, which was absolutely nothing new. The view from Loki’s room was better than the one from his, although it was exactly the same.

Loki had tried to teach Thor how to lie and it was impossible. 

The one Thor used often was, ‘you’d be lonely without me brother’ although why would Loki ever be?

‘Mornings are for people like you,’ Loki grumbled ‘who live for naught but food and fight, and have nothing worthy to think about. I have spent hours studying important matters pertaining to our kingdom and so I deserve to awaken at noon.’

‘Your eyes are closed and yet you speak so fluently,’ Thor shrugged, or Loki guessed he did, because his eyes had indeed not yet opened. 

So they’d eat together and say nothing at all and the sun would melt into Thor’s hair. Afterward, Loki would return to sleep, with Thor musing by the window, and it was easier not to resent him for all his many faults, when nothing felt real. His brother could step into a moment and turn it into light. He had more sun in him than thunder.

Oh, how he’d missed him. One step forward, across galaxies and then cold, miserable whispers wish Thor had not returned. The shadow of his brother’s existence interrupted Loki’s accomplishments. It mattered not how well Loki had governed the people, his authority is now half as fierce. It feels a bit like falling.

He looks up and he’s treading water.

Catch me, he wants to say.

Thor smiles at him and all space spins the other way, just for a second. Thor smiles like Loki is his greatest friend in the nine realms, as if Loki had done nothing wrong ever and its minutes to his coronation and he trusts his young brother without the merest of uncertainties.

Loki has always wanted to run.  
And he has always wanted to stay.

He scuffs his boot against the floor and thinks of hurt and blood and scars. The eye patch that covers Thor’s eye might have hidden the wound and yet he will dream of the horrors of his brother’s bloody face, the hollowness of the eye socket, the protectiveness and anger he felt. It had certainly surprised him.

‘You cannot call Hela our sister,’ he says, perturbed by the word ‘you cannot make her family because she was Odin’s daughter.’ 

A sibling is not someone who meets you once and almost succeeds in murdering you. A brother breakfasts with you without you asking because he knows you don’t really mind, who looked for you after battles and held your face and shoulders and murmured, ‘are you hurt Loki,’ who has spent centuries with you almost together and then you try to murder each other.

‘Why does it matter to you?’ Thor asks softly, as if the words bruise his throat, so cautious he is around Loki, who has just come and is soon gone, ‘I thought you cared naught for being my brother.’

‘Yes,’ he sighs, ‘and yet you are still mine. I refuse to share you with that creature.’

Thor blinks at him, as if he’s uncertain that he’s telling the truth. Being in Thor’s presence is like fighting with the sun. He always wins. Loki wants to be suffocated by it, run from all the sincerity and the affection bestowed on him so effortlessly, although he does not deserve it, not really, but he cannot move and he isn’t sure if he hates himself for accepting it.

He thinks of the tesseract, as blue as the thunder of Thor’s eyes, as beautiful. The way he is constantly haunted by both. Perhaps he cannot let go of either.

‘I worried for you brother,’ Thor interrupts his tormented musings. Loki hardly ever wonders about Thor’s wellbeing. Thor is his big brother and they aren’t meant to be worried about, or they would not really be good big brothers. Thor calls himself hero and heroes don’t need to be cared for. Besides, it seems like nothing ever affects him. It is all laughter held in his chest, reassuring and healing.

Thor looks away, into the beyond, where Loki knows fear waits and Thor sees his home is naught but a mirage of memories. On occasion, Loki does not truly know him. He’s a better liar than Loki gives him credit for. Oh, he knows Mother’s death is his sin alone and on some mornings he cannot bear the thought of it. It has made it harder to be on Midgard, to have friends there who know nothing of his grief. Then there is Loki dying. It is his worst wound and it refuses to scar. Loki is a mere illusion so very many times and it is entirely sorrowful.

‘Loki?’

‘Hmm?’ Loki is all energy, a rhythm of it and it is more than his magic, it is his essence. It is all his astonishing ideas, his prolific knowledge and simply, but so importantly, being his brother.

Thor is envious of his brother’s strength, of always being able to survive, of having Frigga’s respect.

He has missed Loki. He isn’t sure if that’s right.

‘In the years since we have last spoken, have you not once thought fondly of our history?’ He feels as defeated as Asgard. It insults his pride and yet he is curious to know. Besides, Loki is his last family.

‘Of course not,’ Loki rolls his eyes.

Thor wonders why he expected any other answer. Perhaps Loki was so utterly harmed by Thor’s arrogance whilst in their youth, that he is determined to not forgive him. Besides, Loki has never needed him, not really. He had ruled the kingdom well. Father would indeed be proud of him. The last Asgardians might well do better to have Loki as king. They do not need him either. It seems to Thor that he has lost all that he once cared for.

After all, there is no use fighting, when there is no one left to fight for.

‘You’re not history yet, no matter how I try to ignore you,’ Loki sounds almost regretful, a bit resentful ‘and I might have led our people to peace and plays, but they still wrote odes to you and named their sons after you.’

Thor thinks that he truly cares only for Loki’s opinion. Mostly cares for Loki, really. He will grieve Odin and Mother’s death was harsh and brittle, but Loki dying was like losing tomorrow. Where is the sun, if the moon does not let it follow?

Loki hears rain and the room is suddenly so vast and dark and he cannot breathe.

Frigga’s love was acceptance and approval, entirely fulfilling, never ever doubtful. Thor’s love is tempestuous and brilliant, adventurous and exquisite. Loki seems to live to test it, to see how far he can take it before it ricochets right back to him. It is compelling theater.

‘I have betrayed you often. Surely this time you will not forgive me,’ he says cautiously, wary of Thor’s opinions. ‘You will let me fall into the void and will at last be rid of the monstrous Jotunn you mockingly name as brother.’

Thor is completely unaffected by this comment. Loki glares at him. He should at least look insulted.

‘You hope so Loki. That I might disregard you, so you will feel less guilty of yet loving me,’ he smiles solemnly.

Loki wants to lean his forehead on his brother’s and breathe in home. He wants to hear the stories of the stars and the songs of crashing planets. All his infinities, held by one.

He takes one step forward and he's still so far away.

Thor’s steps are longer than Loki’s. Two of Loki’s are one of his, across the room, the gemstones of the broken bi-frost, into Loki’s future, as their past is shards of shattered stars.

Loki whispers, ‘brother.’

Thor’s hugs should be written into legend. He wraps his arms around Loki so very absolutely and Loki has not felt so safe in an age. His hair is sharp and short, of battles lost and tales told, and Loki’s locks fall onto his shoulders, still victorious. Perhaps this is why he is an inch taller, larger in spirit and size, so his embrace is unbreakable and Loki hopes that the memory will save him. 

‘Do not cry onto my hair,’ he nudges his brother, who sniffs and does not listen.

I can hear Loki's heartbeat, Thor thinks wildly, the way his breath hitches as he tries not to cry, his pulse so real and bright. Loki is alive and I can hear his heart beat.

Thor is all his, Loki knows. He'll help. And for a moment it feels like he has nothing to fear.


End file.
